


Everything

by MathClassWarfare



Series: We’ve Got Plenty of Time [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Canon Related, Crying, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Post-Canon, Spoilers, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-03 00:29:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15807645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MathClassWarfare/pseuds/MathClassWarfare
Summary: After all that they’ve been through, Prompto and Noctis try their best to just live.— This takes place during Ch. 3 ofOnly Human-A Possible Ending to Final Fantasy XV,  after Noctis's carefully orchestrated reunion with Prompto in the basement of a bookstore in Insomnia.





	Everything

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [How to Make iOS Text Messages on AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6434845) by [CodenameCarrot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CodenameCarrot/pseuds/CodenameCarrot), [La_Temperanza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/La_Temperanza/pseuds/La_Temperanza). 



The subway car is nearly empty. An annoying flickering light has driven the passengers away, with the exception of an elderly woman asleep on one end of the car, and two much younger men in hooded sweatshirts, slumped together on the opposite end. A black dog rests at their feet.

Noctis tugs at the edge of his hood, thinking of the security camera looming behind him. As fear begins to creep up the back of his neck, he takes three deep breaths to calm himself. 

He focuses on the weight of Prompto leaning against him, tucked in the curve of his arm, and savors the feeling of contact. He’s sleepy, and still love-drunk from their reunion in the basement of the bookstore. He’s been dreaming of this ever since the Astrals allowed him to live.

He’s warm, but it feels like Prompto is shivering. 

“Hey,” Noctis whispers, smoothing Prompto’s sweatshirt over his hip, “you cold?” 

Prompto leans forward and turns to look at Noctis with red-rimmed, watery eyes. 

“Not really.” 

He’s crying.

Noctis feels familiar guilt coiling in his gut. “Oh.”

Prompto dries his face with the cuff of his sweatshirt. “Sorry . . .”

“Don’t be.” 

Noctis presses a soft kiss to quavering lips. He whispers, “I’m sorry I put you through all this . . .”

Prompto responds with a sad smile. “So not your fault, dude.” 

The train slows and he takes Noctis’s hand. “Our stop.”

Fingers interlinked, Noctis trusts his best friend to lead him safely through the station, and up to the late night sidewalk where he risks raising his head to look at their surroundings.

It’s a neighborhood he never spent much time in before, back when he was the Prince of Lucis. The streets are narrow, flanked by rows of modest brownstones and pastel-colored stucco apartment buildings. Outside a sidewalk cafe on a corner, someone has strung white fairy lights from the street trees. Branches reach up and out to form a leafy canopy that stretches for blocks. Tidy piles of bricks are stacked beside buildings in the midst of re-construction. It’s pretty. And comfortable.

They take their time, stopping frequently for Umbra to sniff things and relieve himself. Prompto points out his favorite dive bar, a thrift store with super low prices but no dressing room, and a restaurant with amazing green curry and only a tarp for a roof. 

People are starting to spill out of the bars after last call, gathering around sidewalk hot dog vendors. A couple of neighbors stop to chat with Prompto. Thankfully they’re more interested in meeting the dog, leaving Noctis free to hang back and stare antisocially at his phone.

Prompto’s apartment is on the eighth floor of a towering brick building. It’s a corner unit, with hardwood floors and a view. Noctis can make out the lights of the Citadel in the distant skyline. 

He leaves his shoes and his backpack, all his worldly possessions, by the door and collapses onto the couch. 

Prompto puts out a bowl of water for Umbra.

“Want a tour?” 

“Do I have to get up?” 

Prompto smiles and shakes his head. He spins around slowly, arms outstretched. “This is it!” 

It’s a studio, furnished with a floral-print couch, leather armchair, and bright orange rug. A murphy bed is recessed into one wall, with a painted-on screen for the projector that hangs from the ceiling. Noctis is impressed by the cable management system, which makes use of tall plants and plenty of zip ties. 

There are no fewer than four different game systems lined up on the bookshelf, along with three cameras. Books, comics, and zines spill out onto the floor and rest in untidy piles on end tables. There’s a stack of newspapers in a wooden crate by the chair. Balls of yarn and knitting needles are everywhere.

There isn’t much of a kitchen. Just a sink, a small fridge nestled under the cabinets, and a hotplate on the counter. There’s no room in there for the microwave, which sits on the red formica table a couple meters away. 

Prompto points out the bathroom and several closets, explaining the purpose of each—coats, clothes, and storage.

Concluding the tour, he crawls onto the couch, on top of Noctis, who wraps him in his arms.

“I love your apartment.”

“Our apartment,” Prompto murmurs into Noctis’s chest. “I guess I have to pay a pet deposit now.”

Noctis brushes his fingers through Prompto’s hair and sighs. It really does feel like home. He desperately wants to stay.

“Noct . . .” Prompto sits up so he can make eye contact. “I still don’t understand.” 

“It’s okay.” Noctis scoots back so that he’s facing Prompto, and squeezes both of his hands. “I don’t know if I understand either. But I’m here now.”

“Are you . . . Prompto takes a ragged breath. “Are you going to disappear again?”

Noctis wants to comfort him, and say that he isn’t going anywhere. The truth is that he doesn’t know if the Astrals would take away this life they’ve granted him, now that he’s bent the rules.

So all he says is, “I don’t think so.”

This is the wrong answer, and Prompto unravels. 

He gasps out sentence fragments between sobs. “I _can’t_ . . . Noct . . . can’t . . . lose you . . . not again.”

Noctis holds Prompto tight and kisses the top of his head. Tears run down his face and into blonde hair. 

He feels like a monster. Selfish and careless. He wasn’t strong enough to stay away.

He whispers, “I’m sorry . . . I love you . . . I’m sorry . . .” It’s a familiar refrain. 

When Prompto comes up for air, his face is puffy and red. And he’s hiccuping.

“Let me get you some water.”

Noctis finds mugs in the kitchen cabinet, and a filtered water pitcher in the fridge. 

He returns to the couch and presses a chocobo mug into Prompto’s hands. 

“Thanks, Noct.” 

They peer at each other while they drink, and set the empty mugs on the floor.

“Shiva . . .” Noctis is careful with his words. “She told me I could live . . . Just not as the Chosen King.” 

He picks up Prompto’s hand and laces their fingers together.

“As long as I don’t disturb the prophecy, I shouldn’t have any trouble with the Astrals.” 

“So, people can’t find out that you’re alive.” 

“Right.”

“What about Iggy? And Gladio?”

Noctis winces. “I don’t know.” 

He misses his friends so much, and he wants to tell them, but he’s scared. 

Prompto looks scared too. “It’s gonna be really hard to keep you a secret from them.” 

“We have to try, okay? At least for a little while, so we have time to figure this out.” 

Prompto nods, but he’s frowning.

“Can we go to bed?” Noctis yawns. He’s been awake almost 20 hours, and didn’t sleep well the night before.

Prompto shakes his head no. “I’m not going to sleep. I’m not taking my eyes off you.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Yeah.”

“Can I at least use the bathroom?” Noctis laughs softly. 

“Don’t close the door.”

“Prompto . . .”

“What if I look away . . . and you’re gone?” His voice is shaking again.

“That’s not—”

Prompto interrupts him. “You don’t know what’s going to happen. We don’t know anything.”

He holds Prompto’s gaze, and doesn’t respond right away. His emotions are a complex stew of guilt and fondness, exhaustion and desire. Right now, Noctis thinks he would do almost anything for his best friend. 

“Okay,” he exhales, finally. “Let’s play a game then.”

They choose a couch co-op platformer that has cute art. It’s not a particularly challenging game, but Noctis’s character dies repeatedly because he keeps drifting off to sleep.

After Noctis walks his character into the same spike pit for the third time, Prompto shuts off the game. “Ok, let’s get you to bed.”

He pulls the bed down from the wall and it’s already made, except the pillows which are stuffed in a hidden cubby. “ _Viola!_ ”

Noctis sits up, groggy, and goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth and take a leak. He leaves the door open as requested. It’s not like they haven’t pissed in front of each other before.

Prompto hangs in the doorway. He smiles when Noctis leaves his toothbrush next to his own in the cup by the sink. 

When Noctis crawls into bed, Prompto picks up a tangle of knitting that might one day become a hat. He sits in the chair with his bare feet propped up and tucked under the covers.

“Please lay with me.” Noctis reaches for Prompto, stretching his fingers out as far as they’ll go.

Prompto snickers. “I _already_ laid with you, remember?”

“Very funny . . . Come on. I’m cold.” To illustrate the point, Noctis presses his foot against Prompto’s.

“Ahh! Your feet are ice!”

“C’mere.”

Prompto stuffs his knitting back in a canvas bag, leaves his clothes in a pile on the floor, and slips under the comforter to nuzzle up against Noctis.

“I’m still staying awake,” he says.

Noctis makes a contented, drowsy sound. 

That night, he sleeps better than he has in more than ten years.

The next morning, Noctis is the first to arise for once. He wonders how long Prompto stayed awake watching him sleep. 

He looks so peaceful, with parted lips and hair splayed out like a halo on the pillowcase. They never pulled the blinds down, so the apartment is flooded with sunlight that illuminates his freckles.

Noctis searches the kitchen for something to eat. The options aren’t very appealing. He also can’t find any coffee.

He jumps back around the corner when he hears the bed squeak.

“Noct?!”

“I’m here!” He rushes to Prompto’s side, and kisses his cheek. “Here I am.” 

“ _Ughhhh!_ Fell asleep with my contacts in.” 

“I was worried about that.”

Prompto drags Noctis to the bathroom so he can flush out his eyes. Then he pulls him into the shower, and Noctis doesn’t protest. He lets his worries melt away with hot water and soapy caresses.

When they’re drying off, he delivers the bad news. “I couldn’t find any coffee.”

Prompto flings one wet towel over the shower bar and the other over the top of the door.

“Yeah, I’m out. I don’t really have anything to eat either. Unless you want potato chips for breakfast.” 

“ _Mmmmm . . ._ ”

Noctis leaves the bathroom to unpack his bag. After pouring some kibble for the dog, he picks up a rumpled shirt and gives it a sniff. 

“Here,” Prompto throws him a clean black t-shirt. It looks familiar.

“Is this my shirt?”

“Yeah . . . I kinda inherited a bunch of your stuff. Including some stuff that’s actually mine.”

He gestures towards a cardboard box in the corner, labeled “Miscellaneous” in Ignis’s careful handwriting. Noctis vaguely remembers packing it the night before they left Insomnia all those years ago. He pulls out a comic book, and flips through the pages.

“Huh . . . I never gave this back to you?”

With a sheepish smile, Prompto says, “I also kept that sweater I knit you, even though one sleeve is longer than the other.”

“I love that sweater. Give it to me.”

Prompto grins and retrieves his handiwork from the top shelf of a closet.

“So, there’s a bagel place like a block away. Their coffee’s not terrible.” 

“Sounds great.” Noctis says, pulling the sweater over his head. “But I should probably lay low.”

“Right. _Shit._ ” Prompto chews on his lower lip and finishes getting dressed. 

Then he grabs two thermoses from the kitchen cabinet and tosses them in a messenger bag.

“Ok. I’ll be back in ten minutes.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be here when you get back.” 

They share a kiss at the door, and Prompto takes Umbra with him, nearly forgetting to shove a plastic bag in his pocket. 

As soon as he’s alone, Noctis heads straight for the bathroom. There are still some things he doesn’t want to share with his beloved. 

He doesn’t take his phone with him, and by the time he’s out, there are already three texts waiting for him.

**Prompto:** No everything, want sesame?  
  
**Prompto:**???  
  
**Prompto:** WTF text me back!!!!!  
  


He fumbles with his phone and responds as quickly as possible.

  
**Noctis:** Sorry!  
  
**Noctis:** Sounds good thx  
  


Barely five minutes later, he hears unmistakable footsteps rushing down the hallway, the sound of dropped keys, and excited barking.  

He opens the door and catches Prompto as he stumbles in. Umbra spins around, tippy-tapping his nails on the floor, and looks up at them with a happy doggy smile. 

“I’m still here.” He says softly, like a sigh. “I love you.” 

He feels Prompto relax into his arms.

“I love you, too.”

They eat bagels with generous helpings of cream cheese and smoked fish, and wash it down with actually-not-that-bad coffee. 

Prompto talks about his job at the Meteor. He’s the photographer for the Insomnia edition, and he’s been using this role to highlight important social issues in the city as people return home and rebuild.

Noctis talks about his writing. How it helps him process his trauma. The satisfaction he feels to see his words on a page, on a magazine rack, and especially, in a reader’s hands.

Later, he digs through the stack of Meteors and marvels at Prompto’s work. He wonders if maybe they could create something together, if he can write anything that’s good enough.

They spend the rest of the day and night getting reacquainted, trying to memorize each other, still afraid it’s too good to last.

As the days go by, they fall into a comfortable domestic rhythm. The apartment isn’t tidy, but they each do their part to make sure it’s safe for human and dog habitation. They order lots of takeout, and run out of space to store all the reusable plastic containers. The armchair becomes Umbra’s bed.

With time, Prompto isn’t so afraid to leave Noctis’s side. He goes running, back to work, and out with friends. He never invites anyone over anymore, though. He doesn’t talk to his friends and co-workers about the most important person in his life. He laughs it off when his friend Alice tells him he looks happier and healthier, and asks if he’s met someone. 

Noctis ventures out of the apartment more and more frequently. He keeps writing, and contributing poetry to zines. He starts a blog. Very occasionally, he reads at an open-mic night, but only Prompto has any advance notice. He gets lonely, though. In the apartment by himself. Or walking through the city, head down, passing like a ghost through the crowded sidewalks of his former kingdom. He misses his dad, and Luna.

Keeping the secret from Ignis and Gladiolus is agonizing. Prompto hates the idea of lying to his friends, so he just avoids them instead. Naturally, they start to worry about him. 

They have a long talk after Prompto receives a particularly heart-wrenching voicemail from Ignis. The Astrals haven’t taken Noctis yet, so it’s probably okay that he revealed himself to Prompto. Ignis and Gladiolus were highly-trained, experienced Crownsguard. Surely they can keep a secret. A few people knowing the truth isn’t enough to undermine the prophecy, which is buoyed up by religion, patriotism and historical fact. 

They decide to tell their friends.

Prompto invites both of them over for dinner the following day, and says he wants to talk to them about something. He’ll later consider whether this was unnecessarily ominous and confusing. They never have dinner at his apartment, because the table is small and has a microwave on it. That, and he can’t cook. Despite the unusual circumstances—or maybe because of them—both Ignis and Gladiolus immediately accept. 

The next evening, reunited with all of his closest living friends, Noctis is overwhelmed with gratitude. 

The four of them, together. Sharing food and stories. Laughing at inside jokes. Playing games. 

No Crown. No Crystal. No Magic.

This is the kind of life he’s always wanted.

This is everything.


End file.
